John Wannamaker.
In the summer of 1838, John Wannamaker was born in Philadelphia. His father was a brick-maker, and while out of school mornings, nights and Saturdays, the boy John was engaged in turning bricks which were laid in the sun to dry. Thus early those habits of industry were instilled into the lad who, by his own diligence, was destined to one day become the merchant prince of Philadelphia.
A few years later, school was abandoned for steady employment which was found in a store four miles from his home, where he boarded, for he had not the means to do otherwise, thereby walking eight miles per day, aside from his duties at the store, receiving $1.25 each Saturday evening. Think of it, working hard all the week, walking four miles night and morning—in all forty-eight miles per week, and receiving only $1.25 salary for the entire week's work. Afterward he was employed in a law office, and still later we find him in a clothing store at a salary of $1.50 per week. Here he seemed to find the calling which suited his taste, and he cultivated a pleasing disposition; people liked to trade with the young clerk. Of course this faculty, coupled with energy, would soon bring recognition, and it was not long before he was called to responsible positions. Another strong feature of the success of John Wannamaker was, he lived on less than he earned, and saved the balance.
In 1861 he had saved several hundred dollars, and as he had earned a reputation for honesty and ability, he was enabled to start in business on his own account. This firm of Wannamaker & Brown was situated at the corner of Sixth and Market streets. Mr. Wannamaker kept the books—the firm hired no superfluous help—everything that they could do personally they hired no one to do. A firm which possesses ability, and follows such business rules, will succeed. Notwithstanding that the times were unusually "shaky," they prospered.
As the business increased other stores were opened, and John Wannamaker, the poor clerk—after a period of twenty years of enterprise, pushed by energy, controlled a force of 6,000 employes. Not only does the firm handle clothing, but every conceivable article generally found in retail trade, the establishment being the largest in the great city of brotherly love.
How pleasant it is to see men to whom God has bountifully supplied money using that means for the good of their fellow-creatures. Among the liberal, whole-souled millionaires of our country, John Wannamaker is to be found. Although carrying on an immense business he has found time to establish Sunday-Schools, solicit money for the Young Men's Christian Association, and has contributed to these personally, over $100,000.
John Wannamaker is a philanthropist. One of his favorite schemes has been to go into the vilest neighborhoods, establish a Sunday-School, build nice houses, and thus bring the locality up to the plane of respectability. He was looked to for aid when the Centennial was projected, and it is needless to say that it was not found wanting. The secret of his great success is his indefatigable industry, and a thorough mastery of his business. He is one of the most enterprising merchants in history.
Alexander T. Stewart.
The dry-goods prince of the world. A marble palace for a store, which is entered daily by an average of twenty-five thousand people who buy $75,000 worth of merchandise—a business with daily import duties to the Government of $25,000 in gold. When we look at all this, and then remember that he was proprietor, not only of the palace store of America, but had branches in Philadelphia, Boston, Lyons, Paris, Belfast, Glasgow, Berlin, Bradford, Manchester, Nottingham, and other cities throughout the world. When we behold this great success, and then think how he landed in this country a poor Irish lad of sixteen, friendless, homeless, and almost penniless, alone in a strange land, we involuntarily exclaim, "How was such a change in his position brought about?" Why did he succeed, while others all about him who were far better situated, failed? Let us follow him:
He was born at Belfast, Ireland, October 21st, 1802, and in 1818 came to America. He was a mere lad of sixteen. The first work that he obtained was as assistant in a college; here he worked hard, saved his money, and at last he was able to open a small store in the city where he sold dry-goods. When he became twenty-one he was called to his native country to claim a small legacy left him by a relative who had died. He had made a study of his business, hence invested the entire sum in Irish products, and returning to America rented another store on Broadway, and thus began that great importing business. At this time he was his own buyer, salesman, book-keeper and errand boy. Ah! there is the secret of the success of nine-tenths of our great men. They began at the bottom—never hiring help for the mere appearance or convenience of their assistance. They never hired done what they themselves could do. And then there is another thing to remember—beginning thus at the bottom they, of necessity, became thoroughly familiar with the details of their business, hence were never obliged to leave anything to the 'confidential clerk' who has ruined so many business men. Stewart soon felt the need of more room, and was compelled to seek more commodious quarters. After making another move to a larger store-room he made his first purchase of real estate, which was his "down-town" store. After this his "up-town" store was built.
He was a splendid salesman, a perfect gentleman toward customers, and people preferred trading with him rather than any clerk in his employ. His tastes were very simple, and he was always plainly dressed. It has been stated that Mr. Stewart never posed for a photograph, which is a significant fact of itself. His motto was, "Never spend a dollar unless there is a prospect of legitimate gain." He arose early in the morning, went to his "up-town" store, and thoroughly inspected everything; then to his "down-town" store where he attended to his business at that end of the line.
At the breaking out of the Civil War he aided the Union cause very much. Being in sympathy with the principles of the Republican party, and holding a powerful influence over the commercial world, the President, Mr. Grant, nominated him Secretary of the Treasury, and he was at once confirmed by the Senate; but as there is a law prohibiting any merchant in the importing business from holding this position, he was objected to by opposing politicians; and, although he offered to donate the entire profits of his business to the poor of the city of New York, they still objected, and he was obliged to resign. By this, the country was undoubtedly robbed of the services of a man capable of making one of the best officers for that position our country has ever known. However, it was right that it should be so; it would have been very unwise to have established such a precedent.
In some respects, Mr. Stewart was a very liberal man, although it has been stated otherwise. In his will is his desire to do good especially manifested. Arrangements were made for the building of a church and parsonage, and a school for the benefit of poor boys who desired to fit themselves for a professional life.
Some people may be fortunate in one instance in their life. We do not wholly disregard the idea of circumstances, but we do claim and try to prove that it is not the one instance in the life after all. When we consider a whole life's history, we are convinced every time that generally where one is seemingly very fortunate, it is the result of careful calculation and down-right hard work. Bad luck is the natural result of carelessness in business matters. Had A. T. Stewart waited for a lucky chance to come to him, he might—probably never would have realized that splendid success that did attend his efforts. Here he came to this country at the age of sixteen. He did not wait for his grandfather to die and leave him that legacy but went right at some work. It may be possible that the grandfather gave him that money because he felt that young Stewart would make good use of it. Certain it is he did not wait but went right to work, saved his money, and was well prepared to use the legacy skillfully when he did receive it. However, if Stewart had never had that money given him, he would have succeeded. His whole life was a series of maturing plans, which had been carefully laid, and then pushed to completion. A man must have ability to plan well, and the courage and backbone to push those plans to success. A. T. Stewart possessed these qualities to a marked degree. He began as his moderate circumstances would warrant, and best of all he never allowed his energies to slacken. He never became a lazy business man. He never allowed himself to rest content with the laurels already his. He was a man of enterprise; while competitors followed the footsteps of their fathers, A. T. Stewart was progressing—he was original in nearly every undertaking.
On the 10th day of April, 1876, this great magnate died. His business was carried on, for a time, by others, but the mainspring was gone, and in 1882 the great clock stopped. Here is an instance that should convince us of the result of courage, energy, and self-reliance. A. T. Stewart began without a dollar, and succeeded, while they who had the benefit of his experience, the use of his vast wealth, and a marble palace, could not succeed.
The history of the stealing of Mr. Stewart's body is well-known, and as the papers have succeeded so well in keeping the subject before the people, we will not speak further of that here, our object being rather to instruct than to narrate sensational episodes.
Nicholas Longworth.
In the year 1782 there was born a child of parents who had once been somewhat wealthy, but who were then living in poverty at Newark, New Jersey. This child was Nicholas Longworth, the father of grape culture in the United States.
He attempted to learn various trades, at one time being bound to a shoemaker, but finally settled upon the law and began its study, as his circumstances would allow, in his native city. Young Longworth saw that he would have far more chance to rise in the new country west of the Alleghanies than in the over-crowded East. Therefore, when he was of age he emigrated "out west," stopping at the outskirts of civilization, locating in a small place of 1000 inhabitants called Cincinnati. Here he entered the law office of Judge Burnett, and soon was capable of passing the necessary examination, and was admitted to the bar. His first case was in defense of a certain man who had been arrested for horse-stealing, a very grave offense in that wilderness. This man had no money and about all he possessed in the world that he could call his own was two copper stills. As much as young Longworth needed money he was obliged to accept these as his fee for clearing the man. He tried to turn the stills into money but finally traded them for thirty-three acres of land, which was a barren waste. He had kept his eyes open and felt sure that the possibilities for Cincinnati were very great. He therefore bought land at ten dollars per lot, as fast as his means would allow, and all through the early portion of his life bought real estate until he became recognized as the heaviest real estate owner in Cincinnati.
Years afterward he saw the wisdom of his course,—living to see his ten dollar lots rise to ten thousand dollars each, and the land which he received as his first fee, that was thought to be all but worthless, rise to the value of two million dollars. After following the law for about twenty years he was forced to give up his practice in order to take care of his extensive land interest. He went into the grape growing business, and for some time his efforts were attended with only discouragement, but he had relied on the clippings from foreign vines. He firmly believed that the Ohio valley was naturally adapted to the growth of the grape, and in this enterprise he allowed himself to harbor no thoughts other than of success.
This is a characteristic of any man calculated to succeed. After experimenting with many different varieties, he at last hit upon the Catawba. To encourage the industry he laid out a very large vineyard, gave away great numbers of cuttings, offered a prize for any improvement in the Catawba grape, and proclaimed that he would buy all the wine that could be brought to him from the valley, whether in large or small quantities. The result was that grape growing figured as no small factor in the development of Ohio. He had a wine cellar capable of holding 300,000 bottles, and was worth at his death $15,000,000.
Nicholas Longworth was exceedingly liberal in his own way—selling his lots on easy installments, thereby aiding many to a home. His motto was, "Help those who help themselves," however, he gave much to those whom no one else would aid. He was personally of inferior appearance; not only this, but nothing pleased him more than a shabby dress, being often mistaken for a beggar. As a benefactor and horticulturist he made his influence to be felt in succeeding generations.
Robert Bonner.
Of all the newspaper editors we have ever read, possibly Robert Bonner is the most enterprising. He was born in Ireland in the year 1824, and at the age of sixteen came to Hartford, Connecticut. He had an uncle here who was a farmer, but Robert aspired to own a paper, and drifted into the office of the Hartford Courant. Robert Bonner determined to own a paper; he, therefore, set about it, working faithfully every day, and overtime, saving his money. He mastered his business, becoming an expert compositor. In 1844 he went to New York and obtained employment on the Mirror. He was intrusted with the oversight of the advertising department, and it was soon seen that he had a decidedly fine taste in the arrangement of this line, a feature which has undoubtedly had much to do with his wonderful success later. He was also at this time a correspondent of the Hartford Courant, also newspapers in Boston, Albany and Worcester. About 1851 he bought out the Merchants Ledger, a paper devoted to the commercial interests of the country. This he transformed into a family story paper, and christened it the New York Ledger. Fanny Fern was just appearing in the columns of literature. Bonner offered her $1,000 to write a story for the Ledger, enclosing his check for the amount. As this was a very high price in those days, of course she accepted. Then the papers throughout the country were full of advertisements—"Read the Thousand Dollar Story in the Ledger." "Read The New York Ledger"—Some people said, "Well, first-class journals don't use such flashy ways of inducing people to subscribe; they rely on the merits of their paper." Bonner heard this and began to study how to overcome this tide of sentiment. There was Harpers Weekly—no one questioned its respectability. The Harpers never indulged in any flashy advertising, but soon the people were surprised to see in all the leading papers, 'Buy Harpers Weekly,' as no one imagined that Bonner had paid for the advertising; they attributed the advertisements to the necessity Harpers felt through the rivalry of the Ledger. This sort of enterprise cost, but it convinced people that respectable journals advertised as did the Ledger. People said it was 'cheap, trashy literature, etc.'
Mr. Bonner at once hunted up Edward Everett who was recognized as the representative of New England refinement. This was a most opportune time for Mr. Bonner, as Mr. Everett was trying to raise a large sum with which to aid in beautifying the home and tomb of Washington. Mr. Bonner engaged Mr. Everett to write a series of articles on Mount Vernon, giving in return his check for $10,000 to be applied toward the Everett Fund for the aid of the Association. Probably Mr. Everett would have refused to write at any other time, but Bonner took advantage of circumstances—always.
He next secured George Bancroft, the eminent historian. Then followed Horace Greely, James Gordon Bennett, and Henry J. Raymond. When such lights of journalism would write for the Ledger, what could lesser country editors say? Next came a story by Henry Ward Beecher, who was followed by Dr. John Hall the great Presbyterian Divine, Bishop Clark, Dr. English, Longfellow, Tennyson, and others, including a series of articles from the presidents of the leading colleges throughout the country.
Mr. Bonner is a Presbyterian, being a member of the church presided over by Dr. John Hall, on Fifth Avenue. He has given many thousands of dollars to various institutions and charities. He owns the finest stable of horses in the Union, among which are such as Maud S.—his first great trotter was Dexter. He never allows one of his horses to trot for money.
Mr. Bonner is getting along in years but still attends to business. His paper has at times attained a circulation of 400,000 copies, each issue.
William G. Fargo.
Who, indeed, has not heard of the American Express Company? Yet, how few there are who know to whom we are indebted for its existence.
William G. Fargo was born May 20, 1818, at Pompey, New York, and at the age of twelve he was mail-carrier over a route that covered forty miles. The inference must be at once formed that William G. Fargo was no ordinary child. He must have been industrious and trustworthy, for the mail must be delivered on time. No holiday could be observed, nor could any circus be allowed to come between him and his work. Seeking a more remunerative calling he went to Waterville, where he clerked in a small store and tavern, improving his spare moments in learning to keep accounts. When seventeen he went to Syracuse and entered a grocery house. He continued in the grocery line in one capacity or another for five years, when he accepted the freight agency of the Auburn and Syracuse Railroad, in which capacity he had found his calling. Two years later he became associated with Pomeroy & Co., and was given the express agency for that company at Buffalo, and in 1844 he became a member of the firm of Wells & Co., who established an express line from Buffalo, west to Detroit, via Cleveland. This firm, in time, became Livingston & Fargo, and finally the several express companies: Wells & Co., Butterfield, Wasson & Co. and Livingston & Co., became merged into the since famous American Express Co. In 1868 Mr. Fargo was elected President of this Company, and remained at its head until his death. He was also connected with various other enterprises, being Vice-President of the New York Central & Hudson River railroad, and was also largely interested in Northern Pacific and other railroad stock. In 1861 he was elected Mayor of Buffalo on the Democratic ticket, but so impartial was he in the administration of the city affairs, and so patent was his business ability, that he was re-elected, being supported by all parties.
Such is the reward for earnestness. And will any one say that William G. Fargo was not deserving of this splendid success? If we will have success we must earn it. Let no man envy another in no matter what station of life he may be situated. Rest assured that we will fill the place that we are capable of filling; no more, no less.
James C. Flood.
James C. Flood was born in New York city. He received only a plain common school education, but has succeeded, not from a lack of education but in spite of that lack. He passed through the usual routine of boys placed in moderate circumstances, until the year 1849, being past his majority, he sailed in the good ship "Elizabeth," around the "Horn," arriving in a strange land without money or friends, but he had brains, and they were reinforced by a surprising allowance of will-power.
He drifted from one thing to another, kept a restaurant, and finally in 1854 loomed up as senior partner in the firm of Flood & O'Brien, who were soon deep in "Old Kentuck," seeking the treasures which they found in great quantities, and finally when they took hold of the "Hale & Norcross" mine, it made them the first bonanza kings America ever knew.
He next projects the Nevada Bank and makes the call for over five millions of dollars which leads to the suspension of the Bank of California, as the indiscrete placing of its resources leaves that bank in a weak position to withstand so sudden a drain, and was therefore indirectly the cause, as most people think, of its beloved President's death. Mr. Flood desired to place this Nevada Bank upon so firm a foundation that neither the indiscretion of speculators or the ebb and flow of mercantile life could overthrow it. How well this has been accomplished can be seen from the fact, that it has a capital of nearly fifteen million dollars, and numbers among its directors, such bonanza kings as James C. Flood, John W. MacKay and James G. Fair, whose private fortunes combined represent over $100,000,000, to say nothing of other wealthy directors. This bank asserts that it has special facilities for handling bullion, and we should think quite likely it has. Something of the condition of the private finances of Mr. Flood can be ascertained. If one takes the trouble to look over the assessment roll he will find the following: "James C. Flood, 6,000 shares, Nevada Bank stock, $1,200,000; 12,000 shares, Pacific Mill & Mining Co., $4,000,000; 250 shares, Pacific Wood, Lumber & Flume Co., $30,000; 1,000 shares, San Francisco Gaslight stock, $90,000; 937 shares of Golden City Chemical Works, $20,000; 3,000 shares of Virginia & Gold-Hill Water Co., $300,000; 47½ shares of Giant Powder Co., $60,000; 649½ shares Atlantic Giant Powder Co., $30,000; 35,000 shares Ophir Mine stock, $1,000,000," and he is assessed for $250,000 in money. Then comes J. C. Flood & Co. "Controlling interest in stock of Yellow Jacket, Union Consolidated, Scorpion, Savage, Ophir, Occidental, Hale & Norcross, Gould & Curry, Consolidated Virginia, Best & Belcher and other mining companies, $10,000,000; money $500,000." In all it is quite a fortune for a poor boy to find, but it must be remembered that Mr. Flood had much with which to contend, and that nine men out of ten might have passed over the same ground and found nothing. Industry is what wins, and J. C. Flood is no exception to the rule. In a recent law suit Mr. Flood displayed a most peculiar memory, or rather a most remarkable lack of memory. We take the following facts from an editorial on the subject:
"A certain man sued Mr. Flood to recover about $26,000,000, the alleged value of certain 'tailings' on some of the mines. Mr. Flood did not know what company milled the ore of the Consolidated Virginia; did not remember who was President of the company at the time; he might have been; could not say for certain however; did not know where the crude bullion from his own mines was sent to be melted into bars; could not tell how much was worked, nor anything about it. He did not remember who was treasurer of the mill company; he might have been, might now be, but could not tell for certain."
Mr. Flood owns one of the finest mansions, for a private residence, in the whole world. It cost one million, and is a magnificent building in any sense.
Few men surpass him in either getting or keeping money.
John W. MacKay.
John W. MacKay is not only the youngest and the richest of that bonanza trio—Flood, Fair and MacKay but immense wealth has not spoiled him. He is of Irish birth, but came to this country before he was of age. When the gold fever broke out he was one of the first to seek his fortune in that auriferous country bordering on the Pacific, in California. Contrary to the general supposition that his great wealth came through 'good luck,' let me say, it was only by constant toil and slowly acquired experience that he learned how to tell a non-paying lead from a bonanza. Several times he seemed about to strike the long-looked for success only to find his brightest hopes dashed to the earth. But these failures tempered him for the greater hardships that followed.
The famous "Comstock Lode" is situated among a vast accumulation of rocks and deep canyons—the result of terrible volcanic eruptions at some remote period. This mining district was discovered by two Germans in about 1852-3. Contrary to the opinion expressed by other prospectors, these Germans saw silver in the rejected ore. Both brothers suddenly dying, the claim fell to a storekeeper named Comstock who sold out for a few thousand. Mr. MacKay's investment in the one mine, the "Consolidated Virginia and California," has paid him unheard of dividends. This mine produced in a period covering six years, from 1873, gold and silver to the amount of over sixty-three millions of dollars. The combined profits of the two mines were over seventy-three and one-half millions of dollars. Mr. MacKay drifted to this lode, making his first 'hit' in 1863, and in this section the bulk of his vast fortune was accumulated.
On the 25th of November, 1867, he concluded that he was able to support a wife, and accordingly married the widow of an old friend (Dr. Thompson) who had shared his varying fortune of former years when he little dreamed of the vast wealth that awaited him. This lady is one of the best hands to help a man spend a fabulous income, of which we are aware. She lives in Paris, where she gives the most expensive of entertainments. When General Grant was in France he was her guest. She supports a private railway carriage to use at her pleasure, and it would almost exceed belief to describe the cost of her table service; in fact, she lives in oriental splendor. On the other hand Mr. MacKay is decidedly pronounced, personally, in favor of little show. He is far more at home in Virginia City, where he may often be seen in a genuine mining costume, than at his palatial home in Paris.
The ground had been known for years wherein his great wealth was found, but it was pronounced worthless. Everything seemingly had to be contested; confidence was lacking, and what confidence remained was daily agitated by parties who were jealous rivals. The stock became almost worthless, and great discontent was manifest when, to make matters worse, a fire broke out which burned the company's property and valuable machinery. Twelve hundred feet of ground had to be slowly gone over in search for the right vein, at a cost of $500,000. Amid great discouragement John W. MacKay led this apparently forlorn hope to at last be crowned with the success he so richly deserved. He now is estimated to be worth in the vicinity of $55,000,000, and although it may seem a somewhat extravagant reward, it cannot be denied that this vast sum could have been placed in far worse hands.
Both Mr. and Mrs. MacKay are very liberal toward charitable purposes. They were especially complimented by Pope Leo XIII for their charitable deeds. As Mr. MacKay is but about fifty years of age, it is hard to conjecture his possible future. While many features in his career seem to justify the belief in "luck," still, to the close observer, it is manifest that had he not possessed great endurance, and known no such thing as fail, the world would never have known of John W. MacKay. Surely, great effort is the price of great success, always.
James C. Fair.
The name of James C. Fair will be recognized at once as one of the bonanza kings, and like the others he enjoyed only a fair education, starting for California at about the same time as the rest; he taking the overland route while they went by water. His only capital consisting of a miner's outfit, and with those simple implements he began his hard fought battle for wealth. He made mining a scientific study and after about six years of variable success, he became known as an expert. Soon after this he accepted the superintendency of the Ophir mine, and later, the Hale & Norcross; since which time he has gone on, until now, he can count his worldly possessions by the million. He is a most thorough miner, and his long continued life at the bottom of the mines has had a telling effect on his health. That he has successfully managed such wild and wicked men, as many miners are, without becoming the victim of some "accident," indicates something of his ability. Finally his impaired health necessitated his withdrawal from active work, and he made an extended voyage, returning in a much improved condition.
In 1881 he was elected to the United States Senate, where he acquitted himself with credit. He charged nothing for his services, an event without parallel in our history, however, he received all for which he went to Washington—honor. He is assessed for over forty millions, and can well afford to donate his salary to the Government.
Like the other bonanza kings he seems to have been specially favored by fortune, but the old saying, "Birds of a feather will flock together," is true in this case, for these men are all practical miners and changed partners often until the firm of Flood, Fair & MacKay was formed, since which time they all seem perfectly satisfied each with the other. All had been sorely tried during their earlier life and were not found wanting either in ability or stick-to-it-iveness as they passed through the crucible of Dame Fortune.
As we have just been reading the lives of the three bonanza kings, J. C. Flood, J. C. Fair and J. W. MacKay, possibly a description of one of their enterprises in the shape of a flume will be interesting as described by a New York Tribune correspondent:
A fifteen-mile ride in a flume down the Sierra Nevada Mountains in thirty minutes was not one of the things contemplated in my visit to Virginia City, and it is entirely within reason to say that even if I should make this my permanent place of residence—which fortune forbid—I shall never make the trip again. The flume cost, with its appurtenances, between $200,000 and $300,000—if it had cost a million it would be the same in my estimation. It was built by a company interested in the mines here, principally the owners of the Consolidated Virginia, California, Hale & Norcross, Gould & Curry, Best & Belcher and Utah mines. The largest stockholders in these mines are J. C. Flood, James C. Fair, John W. MacKay and W. S. O'Brien, who compose without doubt the wealthiest firm in the United States. Taking the stock of their companies at the price quoted in the board, the amount they own is more than $100,000,000, and each has a large private fortune in addition. The mines named use 1,000,000 feet of lumber per month under ground, and burn 40,000 cords of wood per year. Wood is here worth from $10 to $12 per cord, and at market prices Messrs. Flood & Co. would have to pay nearly $500,000 a year for wood alone. Going into the mine the other day, and seeing the immense amount of timber used, and knowing the incalculable amount of wood burned in the several mines and mills, I asked Mr. MacKay, who accompanied me, where all the wood and timber came from. "It comes," said he, "from our lands in the Sierras, forty or fifty miles from here. We own over twelve thousand acres in the vicinity of Washoe Lake, all of which is heavily timbered." "How do you get it here?" I asked. "It comes," said he, "in our flume down the mountains, fifteen miles, and from our dumping grounds is brought by the Virginia & Truckee Railroad to this city, about sixteen miles. You ought to see the flume before you go back; it is really a wonderful thing." The flume is a wonderful piece of engineering work. It is built wholly on trestle-work and stringers; there is not a cut in the whole distance, and the grade is so heavy that there is little danger of a jam. The trestle-work is very substantial, and undoubtedly strong enough to support a narrow-gauge railway. It runs over foot-hills, through valleys, around mountains, and across canyons. In one place it is seventy feet high. The highest point of the flume from the plain is 3,700 feet, and on an air-line, from beginning to end the distance is eight miles, the course thus taking up seven miles in twists and turns. The trestle-work is thoroughly braced longitudinally and across, so that no break can extend further than a single box, which is 16 feet. All the main supports, which are five feet apart, are firmly set in mudsills, and the boxes or troughs rest in brackets four feet apart. These again rest upon substantial stringers. The grade of the flume is from 1,600 to 2,000 feet from top to bottom—a distance, as previously stated, of fifteen miles. The sharpest fall is three feet in six. There are two reservoirs from which the flume is fed. One is 1,100 feet long and the other is 600 feet. A ditch, nearly two miles long, takes the water to the first reservoir, whence it is conveyed 3¼ miles to the flume through a feeder capable of carrying 450 inches of water. The whole flume was built in ten weeks. In that time all the trestle-work, stringers and boxes were put in place. About 200 men were employed on it at one time, being divided into four gangs. It required 2,000,000 feet of lumber, but the item which astonished me most was that there were 28 tons, or 56,000 pounds of nails used in the construction of this flume.
Mr. Flood and Mr. Fair had arranged for a ride in the flume, and I was challenged to go with them. Indeed the proposition was put in this way—they dared me to go. I thought that if men worth twenty-five or thirty million dollars apiece could afford to risk their lives, I could afford to risk mine, which isn't worth half as much. So I accepted the challenge, and two 'boats' were ordered. These were nothing more than pig troughs, with one end knocked out. The 'boat' is built like the flume, V shaped, and fits into the flume. The grade of the flume at the mill is very heavy, and the water rushes through it at railroad speed. The terrors of that ride can never be blotted from the memory of one of the party. I cannot give the reader a better idea of a flume ride than to compare it to sliding down an old-fashioned eve-trough at an angle of 45 degrees, hanging in mid-air without support of roof or house, and extending a distance of fifteen miles. At the start we went at the rate of twenty miles an hour, which is a little less than the average speed of a railroad train. The red-faced carpenter sat in front of our boat on the bottom as best he could. Mr. Fair sat on a seat behind him, and I sat behind Mr. Fair in the stern and was of great service to him in keeping the water which broke over the end-board, from his back. There was also a great deal of water shipped in the bows of the hog-trough, and I know Mr. Fair's broad shoulders kept me from more than one ducking in that memorable trip. At the heaviest grades the water came in so furiously in front that it was impossible to see where we were going, or what was ahead of us; but when the grade was light, and we were going at a three or four minute pace, the view was very delightful, although it was terrible. When the water would enable me to look ahead, I could see the trestle here and there for miles; so small and so narrow and apparently so fragile that I could only compare it to a chalk-mark upon which, high in the air, I was running at a rate unknown to railroads. One circumstance during the trip did more to show me the terrible rapidity with which we dashed through the flume than anything else. We had been rushing down at a pretty lively rate of speed when the boat suddenly struck something in the bow, a nail, a lodged stick of wood or some secure substance which ought not to have been there. What was the effect? The red-faced carpenter was sent whirling into the flume ten feet ahead. Fair was precipitated on his face, and I found a soft lodgment on Fair's back. It seems to me that in a second's time—Fair himself a powerful man—had the carpenter by the scruff of the neck, and had pulled him into the boat. I did not know at this time that Fair had his fingers crushed between the flume and the boat. But we sped along; minutes seemed hours. It seemed an hour before we arrived at the worst place in the flume, and yet Hereford tells me that it was less than ten minutes. The flume at the point alluded to must have been very nearly forty-five degrees inclination. In looking out, before we reached it, I thought the only way to get to the bottom was to fall. How our boat kept in the track is more than I know.
The wind, the steamboat, the railroad, never went so fast. In this particularly bad place I allude to, my desire was to form some judgment as to the speed we were making. If the truth must be spoken, I was really scared almost out of my reason, but if I were on my way to eternity I wanted to know exactly how fast I went, so I huddled close to Fair, and turned my eyes toward the hills. Every object I placed my eyes upon was gone before I could plainly see what it was. Mountains passed like visions and shadows. It was with difficulty that I could get my breath. I felt that I did not weigh a hundred pounds, although I knew in the sharpness of intellect that I tipped the scales at two hundred. Mr. Flood and Mr. Hereford, although they started several minutes later than we, were close upon us. They were not so heavily loaded, and they had the full sweep of the water, while we had it rather at second-hand. Their boat finally struck ours with a terrible crash. Mr. Flood was thrown upon his face, and the waters flowed over him. What became of Hereford I do not know, except that when we reached the terminus of the flume he was as wet as any of us. This only remains to be said: We made the entire distance in less time than a railway train would ordinarily make, and a portion of the distance we went faster than a railway train ever went. Fair said we went at least a mile a minute. Flood said that we went at the rate of a hundred miles an hour, and my deliberate belief is that we went at a rate that annihilated time and space. We were a wet lot when we reached the terminus of the flume.
Flood said that he would not make the trip again for the whole Consolidated Virginia mine. Fair said that he should never again place himself upon an equality with timber and wood, and Hereford said he was sorry that he ever built the flume. As for myself, I told the millionaires that I had accepted my last challenge. When we left our boats we were more dead than alive. The next day neither Flood nor Fair were able to leave their beds. For myself, I have only the strength to say that I have had enough of flumes.
Horace Greeley.
In the history of journalism, Horace Greeley must, for all time, hold a position in the front rank. As it is well-known he is a self-made man, being born of poor parents at Amherst, New Hampshire, on the 3rd day of February, 1811. His father was a farmer. The Greeley ancestors enjoyed a reputation for 'tenacity,' which was clearly shown in the pale-faced, flaxen-haired but precocious lad of fifteen, who presented himself and was employed at the office of the Northern Spectator, at Poultney, Vermont, in 1826; having walked from West Haven, his home, eleven miles distant. He was to remain an apprentice until twenty, and received in money the princely sum of forty dollars a year 'with which to buy clothes and what was left he might use for spending money.' Why he lived to found a great paper the reader can easily guess, when it is learned that Greeley used the greater part of said forty dollars each year for buying books.
He joined a local debating club where he became the 'giant' member, a tribute paid to his intellect. Most of the members were older than Greeley, but knowledge proved a power in that society and he was invariably listened to with marked attention despite his shabby appearance. Especially was he fond of political data; he followed the exchanges in the Spectator office with increasing interest. His parents removed to Pennsylvania, where he visited them during his apprenticeship as "printers' devil," and general assistant at Poultney, walking the most of the way, a distance of about 600 miles. The Spectator having collapsed, young Greeley, with his entire wardrobe done up in a handkerchief, once more visits Pennsylvania, but not to remain idle; he soon obtained a place in a printing office near his home, at eleven dollars per month, and later still he obtains employment at Erie where he receives fifteen dollars per month. Soon after this, not yet content, he is enroute for New York, where he arrived August 17, 1831.
His appearance in the metropolis was ludicrous in the extreme. One can imagine from accounts given of him how prepossessing he must have looked; flaxen locks, blue eyes, his hat on the back of his head as if accustomed to star gazing, must have given him the appearance of one decidedly 'green,' to say the least. As is a noted fact he was, to his death, exceedingly indifferent as to his dress and what are known as the social demands of society. Indeed he could be seen on the street almost any day with his pockets stuffed full of papers, his hat pushed back on his head like a sailor about to ascend the rigging, his spectacles seemingly about to slip off his nose, his boot heels running over, and we doubt not that he was as likely to have one leg of his pantaloons tucked into his boot top while the other was condescendingly allowed to retain its proper place. In fact it is hardly probable that he would have impressed any one with the idea that he was indeed a great editor of that city. But we return to his first visit; office after office was visited without avail but that hereditary 'tenacity' did not forsake him, and at last he met an old friend, a Mr. Jones whom he had first met in Poultney. This friend, although not a 'boss,' printer fashion set him at work on his own case. When the proprietor came in he was dumbfounded at the specimen of a printer he beheld, and declared to the foreman that he could not keep him. Fortunately, however, for young Greeley, the job that he was on was setting small type,—a most undesirable one. The foreman shrewdly suggested that as Jones, who was a good workman, knew him it would be a good policy to wait and see the result. As it was a very difficult job no wonder that Greeley's proof looked as though it had the measles, but as he was retained he must have done as well if not better than was expected. When the job was finished he was thrown out of employment, and he shifted about for some time doing odd jobs; in fact it must have been very discouraging, but finally he obtained employment on the Spirit of the Times, and afterward formed a business partnership with Mr. Story who, with Mr. Greeley, invested about $240. They established a penny paper, and were moderately successful, but Mr. Story was drowned and his place was filled by another. His connection with the New Yorker was his next business venture. While on this paper he was also editor of a paper in Albany, and a regular contributor to the Daily Whig. When we think that he gave himself only four hours sleep out of the twenty-four, we can realize how he could find time to edit two papers and write for the third, but despite this assiduousness his enterprise failed and he thereby lost $10,000.
Greeley's opinion on economy was clearly defined when he said: "For my own part, and I speak from sad experience, I would rather be a convict in States Prison or a slave in a rice swamp, than to pass through life under the harrow of debt. If you have but fifty cents and can get no more for the week, buy a peck of corn, parch it, and live on it rather than owe any man a dollar." He next started the Log Cabin. It was started in the beginning of 1840, designed to be run six months and then discontinued. Into this undertaking Horace Greeley threw all his energy and ability, guided by his experience. In those days a journal with a circulation of ten thousand was a big concern. When an edition of nearly fifty thousand of its first issue was called for, the publishers were beside themselves, and later when the Log Cabin ran up a circulation of eighty and even ninety thousand, the proprietors were frantic as to how they should get them printed. It is needless to say that the Log Cabin outlived its original expectations.
Ultimately the Log Cabin and the New Yorker were merged into the New York Tribune. As is a recognized fact, Greeley was stronger in a fight than in peace, and the attacks which this new enterprise received soon run its circulation from the hundreds into the thousands. Of course new presses had to be bought and Greeley, who by the way preferred to discuss the financial policy of a great nation than that of his own office, soon found himself obliged to get a business man as a partner. He was exceedingly fortunate in securing Mr. Thomas McElrath, who soon brought order from chaos, and the Tribune became not only an ably conducted paper but a paying one as well.
Mr. Greeley next became a lecturer, and in this field he was also fairly successful. He traveled in Europe and wrote such books as "Hints About Reform," "Glances at Europe," "History of the Slavery Extension," "Overland Journey from New York to San Francisco," "The American Conflict," "Recollections of a Busy Life," "Essays on Political Economy," and just before his death, "What I Know About Farming."
While Mr. Greeley must ever be regarded among journalists as one of their brightest stars; he was one of the most peculiar writers it has ever been our pleasure to read. In fact he must be regarded as a kind of literary gymnast. While conducting a political paper he at one time devoted page after page to the theory of reorganizing society after the plan of Fourier; that is to divide society up into small communities to live in common. After wearying the readers on this and numerous other 'isms,' it was discontinued. He went into a political frenzy over Clay and protection; next his paper was full of the 'Irish Repeal,' 'Advocacy of the Water Cure,' 'Phrenology,' 'Mesmerism,' 'Opposition to Capital Punishment,' 'Trinitarianism' and the 'Drama.'
He was finally elected to Congress to fill an unexpired term. While here he caused some amusement by his eccentricities. He refused to sit up at night sessions, abruptly leaving when his hour for retiring arrived. Possibly his letter addressed to the managers of his party in his State was one of the greatest surprises that he ever sprung upon the country. It was addressed to Mr. Seward personally, but upon mention being made of it by that gentlemen's friends, it was made public by Greeley's demand. It ran something as follows: "The election is over, and its results sufficiently ascertained. It seems to me a fitting time to announce to you the dissolution of the political firm of Seward, Weed and Greeley by the withdrawal of the junior partner, said withdrawal to take effect on the morning after the first Tuesday in February next. I was a poor young printer, and editor of a literary journal—a very active and bitter Whig in a small way, but not seeking to be known outside of my own ward committee. I was one day called to the City Hotel where two strangers introduced themselves as Thurlow Weed and Lewis Benedict, of Albany. They told me that a cheap campaign paper of peculiar stamp at Albany had been resolved on, and that I had been selected to edit it. I did the work required to the best of my ability. It was work that made no figure and created no sensation; but I loved it and I did it well."
"When it was done you were Governor; dispensing offices worth three to twenty thousand to your friends and compatriots, and I returned to my garret and my crust and my desperate battle with pecuniary obligations heaped upon me by bad partners in business and the disastrous events of 1837. I believe it did not occur to me then that some one of these abundant places might have been offered to me without injustice. I now think it should have occurred to you. In the Harrison campaign of 1840 I was again designated to edit a campaign paper. I published it as well and hence ought to have made something out of it despite its low price. My extreme poverty was the main reason why I did not."
"Now came the great scramble of the swell mob of coon minstrels and cider suckers at Washington, I not being counted in. I asked nothing, expected nothing, but you Governor Seward ought to have asked that I be Post Master at New York."
When the Republicans met at Chicago he 'paid' Mr. Seward off by checkmating his chances of the nomination, and placing Lincoln at the head of the ticket. Mr. Greeley had always been an uncompromising opponent of slavery, and once had all but asked for the impeachment of Buchanan, hence the South expected little sympathy from him; yet, this great editor dismays his friends while his enemies are dumbfounded when they read, "Let the South go," but no sooner do the 'erring sisters' act upon his suggestion than this political ranchman is out with his literary lasso vainly trying to keep them in. He next raises the war-whoop of "On to Richmond," and thereby aids in precipitating the terrible disaster of Bull Run. Time goes on—the Union cause looks gloomy enough—all seems lost; yet, when once more the nation needs his powerful support he rushes off to Canada unauthorized, to negotiate a treaty with Southern Envoys which, to say the least, would have been disgraceful to the Union Government. When the cause is won he flees to Washington to sign the bail-bond of the arch traitor, and is thus instrumental in his release from justice. Yet, for all this the Tribune prospered.
He was regarded by many of his readers as a kind of moral law-giver, and if, per chance, one person journeyed to New York and returned to state that their beau ideal had used undue profanity in his common conversation, the indiscrete individual was ostracised.
If Mr. Greeley's previous career had surprised the country and disappointed some of his friends, it remained for the last political act of his life to completely paralyze the country at large, and plunge some of his most ardent supporters into the deepest gloom. This was when they beheld him the nominee of Republicans, 'who were anything to elect Greeley,' and endorsed by Free Traders and Democrats whom he had so bitterly denounced all his life. Had he been nominated by the straight Republican party it might have been considered as a somewhat extravagant reward for party service for this position could not have been regarded otherwise than consistent; but the position he now assumed was inconsistent, not to say ludicrous. The result was he carried only six States against the successful Grant.
He was a Universalist in belief, but educated his daughters at a Catholic school. He refused to get his brother, who actually needed assistance, a position worth perhaps $1,000 a year; yet, he could lend Corneel. Vanderbilt about eight hundred thousand dollars without security. His early friend, Mr. Jones, once sent a friend to him bearing a note requesting Greeley's aid to a subordinate position in the custom-house. No sooner had Greeley glanced it over than he astonished the gentleman, who was aware of Mr. Greeley's early obligation to Mr. Jones, by the volley of oaths and vituperation which he heaped upon him because he did not go West instead of hanging around there seeking office. No wonder the gentleman, who was a reputable middle-aged man, fled from the presence of this famous expounder of 'Moral Ideas.' However, when all this has been said we cannot help but admit that a great and good man died on December 29th, 1872. Certain it is that Journalism lost one of its brightest and most successful stars.
Thurlow Weed.
Who indeed has not heard of Thurlow Weed, "The king maker," born at Cairo, Greene County, New York, November 15, 1797. His father was a teamster and farmer. The reader can get some insight into the seemingly mysterious power he held for so many years, when it was known that so great was his thirst for knowledge that he was glad to wrap bits of a rag carpet about his feet and thus shod walk through the snow two miles to borrow a history of the French Revolution, which he mastered at night, stretched before 'the sap bush fire.'
The more one investigates the character and lives of those men whom we so often envy, the more we are forced to see that it was will-power rightly directed that overcame all obstacles. Certain it is to this that Thurlow Weed owes his everlasting fame as the 'American Warwick'; for knowledge is power. He first left the farm work as a cabin boy on a Hudson river steamboat bound for New York, but being born a journalist he soon drifted into a printing office where he became a good journeyman.
When the second war with Great Britain broke out he enlisted, and served on the Northern frontier, where by faithfulness he became Quartermaster Sergeant. When the war was over he returned to the printing office, being at one time in the same establishment with the late James Harper. Finally he started a paper at Oxford, New York, in 1818. He afterward became connected with the Onondaga Times, which he finally changed to the Republican. For the next few years he is connected with several different papers until we find him in Rochester at the head of the Anti-Masonic Enquirer.
About this time the body of a man who had drowned in Lake Ontario was found, and it was claimed that his name was Morgan; if so, he was a renegade mason. A question of identity was raised, but as his murder was boldly asserted to have been the work of Masonry, it caused a great excitement for the time being. This excitement divided the political parties into Mason and Anti-Mason factions. Anti-Masonry was the political fertilizer which produced the astonishing growth of the assiduous Weed, he being sent to the Assembly twice, mainly on that issue. While at Albany his ability as a party leader becoming so apparent he was decided upon as the proper person to assume the party leadership against the obnoxious 'Albany Regency,' the great Democratic power in New York State at the time. He accordingly moved to Albany and assumed the editorship of the Albany Evening Journal. Weed was one of the men who consolidated the Anti-Jackson, Anti-Mason and old Federal factions into the Whig party. The 'Regency' with which he had to deal consisted of such men as Martin Van Buren, Silas Wright, Willian L. Marcy and others of equal ability. Such were the men with whom he was pitted, but they soon found him in every way worthy of their steel. No one, when speaking of this great political warrior ever thought or spoke of him as a millionaire. Seemingly no one cared how much he was worth; but what did worry them was,—what will be the outcome of this secret conclave which we now suspect to be in progress at the headquarters of the opposition of the 'Albany Regency.'
He went to battle fearlessly, and his terse pen dealt stinging blows straight in the face of the opponent. Indeed, as an editor he has been rarely equaled. While Greeley would devote a column to an article, he would take the same subject and in a few words put the argument in such shape as to carry far more conviction. His two terms in the State Assembly wound up his career as a legislator, although he could have had any place within the gift of his party from 1830 to 1860. His ambition was not to hold office but to rule men, and it is well-known that his desires were accomplished. He was a great dictator, being largely instrumental as an independent advisor in the selection of Harrison, Taylor and Scott. His first trial of personal strength in this line was when he secured the nomination and election of his personal friend, William H. Seward, as the first Whig Governor of New York. Mr. Seward, who was an unobtrusive man, was one time riding with the driver on a stage when that dignitary asked the stranger his name and business, as was customary when people did not volunteer the information. The answer was, "Why, I'm William H. Seward, Governor of the State." This was too good for the driver, whose answer was a loud laugh, plainly implying that he considered that the gentleman had given a most cute but evasive answer. "Don't you believe me?" asked Seward. "Of course not," replied the driver. Mr. Seward, who was acquainted with the proprietor of the next hotel they came to, agreed to leave it to him. In time they arrived and the driver, calling out the landlord, immediately said, "This man says he is Governor of New York State and we have left the matter to you." "Yes," broke in Seward, "am I not Governor of this State?" The answer came quick and sharp; "No, but Thurlow Weed is." "There," exclaimed the ignorant driver, who could not see the point at once; "I knew you weren't Governor of New York State."
In 1864 Mr. Weed sold the Journal, but never entirely suspended literary work. He afterward assumed the editorship of the New York Commercial Advertiser, and often sent letters to the Tribune. In 1882, shortly before his death, the country was set in a flutter by his publishing the whole details relating to the Morgan matter, which he had kept all this time claiming it would injure certain parties, but as the last had died, it was now made public. On November 23rd of the same year one more great journalist passed away. He left a large estate, but a larger host of friends.
George W. Childs.
No one can read the life of George W. Childs without a feeling slowly coming over him that the possibilities of our country are indeed very great. Certain it is that when we see so many examples showing what has been done by poor boys from the farm, we are forced to exclaim that we live in a free country; despite what some say we reiterate, our country is free.
George W. Childs, at the age of ten, became an errand boy in a book-store in Baltimore, and after a period of over a year in the Navy which he served later, he removed to Philadelphia and once more entered a book-store—his natural calling. After four years' apprenticeship, when less than twenty, with his savings he opened a small book-store on his own account.
"Where there's a will there's a way," so believed young Childs. He determined to one day be proprietor of the Philadelphia Public Ledger. "Aim high that you may not strike low,"—how true that adage is. When you see a boy make up his mind to do something; if he makes his actions correspond with his words, you can rest assured that it will be done. Sickness may come; disappointments will follow, but all must be overcome.
Jerome B. Rice determined to succeed in the seed business, but just as success seemed about to crown his efforts that terrible disease, rheumatism, came and deformed him. He lost the entire use of his lower limbs, but his brain was spared, and his determination was unshaken. An invalid chair was bought, a colored man wheels him every morning to his office door where loving hands gently lift him, chair and all, up the steps of the beautiful building now occupied and owned by Jerome B. Rice & Co. Nearly thirty years have passed and Jerome B. Rice has not taken a step, but during that time, despite all obstacles, the firm of Jerome B. Rice & Co. has become one of the leading seed-growing concerns of America. Young men with the same chance he had are apt to say, "It's no use." We answer, "Where there's a will there's a way." "To think a thing impossible is to make it so."
George W. Childs determined to own the Public Ledger. He determined to own the leading paper of the great city of Philadelphia, and he was a poor boy. Was this presumption? If it was he has proved its practicability. If he was building an air-castle he has since placed a firm foundation under it. He labored hard in this little store of his; he built his own fires; he did his own sweeping,—it was the same old story; he hired done nothing that he could himself do. He made some money—not very fast—but a good average profit, and he saved what he did earn. He mastered the publishing business, and he developed a marked business capacity in that line. A man usually fills the notch for which he is fitted: I was about to say—I will say that he fits himself to the notch which he does fill. Sometime we see men in subordinate positions who apparently are capable of the best, but a careful study reveals a screw loose somewhere; there is a weak point, and invariably that point is the one thing which stands between them and victory. "Neither do men light a candle and put it under a bushel, but on a candle stick, and it giveth light to all that are in the house." So said Christ eighteen hundred years ago; is it not so to-day? As young Childs had ability, and it was apparent, what matter it how old he was or where he came from? All the world asks is, "What can he do"?
The publishing firm of R. E. Peterson & Co. sought his alliance, and the firm of Childs and Peterson became known far and near. Do our readers call this luck? He now became a successful publisher, and seemingly his cup was running over, so far as this world was concerned, but it will be remembered that years ago he determined to own the Public Ledger, provided he lived. He was alive and his purpose still remained. He was waiting and watching. The Ledger was a penny paper—the war broke out—stock went up—the management was weakened by death and other complications, the Public Ledger was losing nearly $500 every time it went to press. The paper, great as it was, was losing $3,000 a week—at the rate of $150,000 a year. Now was Mr. Child's chance. In vain did friends entreat; in vain did wise business men shake their heads; Mr. Childs felt that his time had come, and he bought the paper, paying for it nearly $150,000. The new proprietor changed things; the paper was made a two cent issue, and into the Public Ledger he now threw his whole soul. "There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood leads on to fortune." It is even so; he had purchased the Ledger at the right time.
Not one man in a hundred can successfully edit a newspaper; not one editor in twenty could edit the Public Ledger with success. Yet, Mr. Childs is one man out of the hundreds—he is the one editor out of that twenty. He determined to publish only the truth; all claim to do that, but Mr. Childs does it. The paper grew, and on the 20th of June, 1867, the Public Ledger took possession of its new building. This new building cost half a million of dollars, and is one of the finest in the city. At its formal opening many of the most distinguished men in the country were present.
Mr. Childs has been largely instrumental in establishing a small city at Wayne Station. He owns a large tract of land which he has divided into building lots of about an acre each. Any one desiring a home can get one by paying one-third down, and he is also furnished plans from which to select his ideal of a home. The houses built from these plans cost from $2,000 to $8,000 each. Mr. Childs and his partner, Mr. Drexel, have expended about $2,000,000 exclusively for beautifying the city.
Years ago Mr. Childs told a gentleman that he meant to prove that a man could be at once liberal and successful as a man of business, and the princely hospitality of this good man has demonstrated, beyond doubt or contradiction, its practicability. Dinners to newsboys and life insurance policies given to the wives of his employes; such acts make up the history of his life. The late Chief Justice of Pennsylvania once said in a speech: "Some men pursue military glory, and spend their time and energies in the subjugation of nations. Cæsar and Napoleon may be named as types of this character. But the tears and blood which follow violence and wrong maculate the pages of history on which their glory is recorded. Others erect splendid palaces for kingly residences, and costly temples and edifices for the promotion of education and religion in accordance with their particular views. But views of education and religion change, buildings waste away, and whole cities, like Herculaneum and Pompeii, are buried in the earth. Others again win public regard by the construction of means of communication for the furtherance of commerce. The canals, railroads, and telegraph are glorious specimens of their useful exertion for the public good. But the marts of commerce change. Tyre and Sidon, and Venice are no longer commercial centres. The shores of the Pacific are even now starting in a race against the great commercial emporium of our continent. But Mr. Childs has planted himself in the human heart, and he will have his habitation there while man shall dwell upon earth. He has laid the foundation of his monument upon universal benevolence. Its superstructure is composed of good and noble deeds. Its spire is the love of God which ascends to Heaven." Such a monument is, indeed,